


Sanctuary

by writtenrebellion



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Fraser Family Feels, Mild Hurt/Comfort, just a little mothers day fluff, which are the best kind lbr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 05:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14664633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenrebellion/pseuds/writtenrebellion
Summary: Takes place mid S2 / Dragonfly in AmberIn the midst of all the schemes and intrigue, Fergus has a nightmare and Claire's able to squeeze in some mom practice.





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Happy Mothers Day Outlander Fandom!
> 
> I wrote this awhile back and I thought it’d be a nice little fic to celebrate all the amazing things mothers and mother-figures do for their kids. Please let me know what you think!

Claire was begrudgingly getting used to going to bed alone. Their schemes kept Jamie away from her so often, she was starting to entertain the idea of riding off with him somewhere far away, with Fergus and Murtagh in tow, and throwing the notion of stopping the rebellion to the hell that would soon be Culloden Moor.

Her dreams painted serene flashes of empty fields, free of redcoats and danger, with Jamie’s arms wound around her waist and her fingers lost in his hair. Muted sounds of explosions and war, sounds already too familiar for both of them, were lost in the buzzing in her ears as she pressed her lips against his.

The guilt that swirled in her stomach was also familiar. Luckily for all involved, Jamie always returned to her in the wee hours of the night – wound his real arms around her waist – and thoroughly cast away anymore insane and dangerous notions of hers as the two fell asleep together.

Tonight, there was a light creak in the floorboards of the hall and Claire smiled drowsily. She fell in and out of consciousness, and let her mind wander to that night she found Jamie sleeping outside her door, another lifetime ago. Long before they’d married, before she’d even let herself admit it, she’d imagined all the ways that night could have ended differently: how he might have taken her offer to share the room, how things might have changed between them then. But no, thank heavens for small mercies, he had been steadfast and stubborn like a child, and it only further endeared himself to Claire.

 _Child_.

She cracked her eyes open, vision slowly settling in the dark to reveal Fergus standing framed in her open doorway. He was in his bedclothes, rocking on his heels – hence the creaking – and as he noticed Claire staring, he straightened his back hurriedly.

“Apologies Milady,” he whispered. “I-I did not mean to wake you. Is…” His large eyes scanned the room. “Is Milord not here?”

“He’s still working,” Claire mumbled, trying to pull herself back into the waking world. “What are you doing up so late?”

When her eyes finally adjusted, focusing on him, she could see a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. His fingers, fidgeting in a clasp in front of him, were ever so slightly trembling.

“Fergus,” she said slowly, now far more alert, “is something wrong?”

He smiled wide then, and Claire was sure.

“Not to worry, Milady. It is nothing.”

Try as he might to emulate Jamie’s soldier-borne stoicism, his pale face was just as transparent as hers.

“Did you have a nightmare? A bad dream?”

His fingers tensed. She sat up in the bed.

“You can stay here, if you like.”

His eyes grew wide, turning his head so quickly his fine curls shook.

“I-I could not, Milady! Really, it is nothing. There is no need to fuss over a dream.”

He was protesting, but the layer of sweat still gleamed on his head and he made no motion to move or take his leave. The fair skin beneath his eyes was a tiny bit puffy, dark with a touch of red. Something wholly unfamiliar suddenly pulled tight in Claire’s chest.

She’d later swear she felt a small tumble in her womb as well.

She smiled softly, watching him rock on his heels, stubbornly searching for a way to root himself into the floor. She thought then that perhaps the trademark Fraser stubbornness was, in fact, a learned behaviour.

“You know what, Fergus?”

His attention flitted from a stray thread on his sleeve back to Claire.

“I was having a bad dream just now too, and I’d appreciate the company.” She offered it, anchoring his gaze with her own as if he might startle like a deer and dash away. “I know there’s no one Milord trusts to watch over me more than you.”

She knew she was a terrible liar, and he knew it too. She nodded at him slowly and, understandings abound, he nodded back. For a brief second, Claire saw relief rush through him. His eyes had been beseeching her, fighting the instinctual urge to stand as resolute as Jamie. But while her presently absent husband could  _be_  as stubborn as a child, Fergus still was one.

“That is true, Milady. I must do my duty while Milord is away.” He tried very hard to hide his grin as he stepped into the room.

Claire shuffled to Jamie’s edge of the bed and left room for the small boy, who barely took up half of her own space.

Suddenly and overwhelmingly content, she pulled the blankets over them both and snuggled into Jamie’s pillow, catching his scent and feeling his absence ever so slightly less. She was ready to fall back asleep when she felt Fergus stir in the bed.

“Milady…” he said, voice shaking softly in a way she’d never heard from him before.

“Fergus?” she said evenly with her eyes still closed. If he was crying, she knew looking at him would likely only hurt him more.

“… _est-ce ce que font les mères?_ ”

Claire felt her heart shatter and immediately pushed herself back to her side of the bed, gathering the boy into her arms and tucking his head under her chin. She felt a single tear slip down her cheek, disappearing into his brown poof of curls, which she promptly placed a soft kiss against.

“ _Oui, mon petit fils,”_  she mumbled into his hair, feeling gratified as his hands – no longer trembling – grasped against her shift. “ _C’est ce que font les mères._ ”

* * *

There were still hundreds of things to do in the morning, but the twitching in his hands and the fair ache in his back told Jamie Fraser it was time for bed.

He knew he’d do anything to keep his family safe, to somehow keep the rising at bay, but every night he feared there was less and less of himself coming back to Claire. He needed her warmth, her soft hands stroking his arms and cheek, to replenish the soul he felt he was losing. The promise of her touch was the only thing that stopped him from working till he collapsed on his desk. His heart needed her like his stomach needed food, and at the same frequency too.

He loosened his stock and started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked down the dark hall to their room. Knowing it was far too late to stumble into anyone, he was already started on the ties of his breeks when he noticed their bedroom door hanging ajar.

One eyebrow quirked, he peeked into the room and felt his mouth go dry.

 _Christ_.

Two peaceful and pale faces, both framed in a storm cloud of brown curls, greeted him. He closed the door quietly behind him and turned to lose his breath at the sight all over again.

She was beautiful. She always was, but tonight she glowed. Wee Fergus was curled into a ball, his back against Claire’s chest. She, sleeping on her side, had her arms wrapped around his shoulders, clutching him fiercely to her. The picture of a mother and child.

His wife, and  _their_  child.

He felt his heart break and mend itself a thousand times over. All sense of pain and fear vanished instantly as he so clearly saw some alternate future wherein this was all his: his wife, his son, his home, at peace and free from danger.

He walked over to the other side of the bed and pressed his lips to Claire’s temple.

“I kent ye’d make a fine mother,  _mo nighean donn_ ,” he whispered against her skin. She hummed, smiling as she extracted one arm from Fergus and patted the space behind her.

It was an easy enough fit if he laid on his side. Resolved, he removed his breeks, pulled the blankets slowly from Claire and slid in. His chin fit perfectly in the curve of her shoulder, his arms immediately finding their home around her waist. All the while, careful not to disturb the young boy sleeping soundly.

Her free hand rested against his thigh, stroking it once and patting it. And, in one perfectly synchronized breath, mother, father, and son alike were as still as the night outside and, at once, asleep.


End file.
